


vodka volition

by diphylleias



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, oh kiyoomi, subliminal polyamorous vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diphylleias/pseuds/diphylleias
Summary: Hinata just laughs. And laughs, and laughs, warm and loopy and, always, a tiny bit crazed. Always, a tiny bit beautiful. “Does that mean you won’t makeout with us, Omi-san?”
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 257





	vodka volition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yamabato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamabato/gifts).



> originally posted on twitter!

They’re deliriously drunk. The both of them.

Kiyoomi’s cursing every single member of the MSBY Black Jackals to the sixty-seventh infernal ring of Hell. And then some. Particularly Bokuto Koutarou. _Especially_ Bokuto Koutarou. Yeah-I’ll-be-designated-driver-oh-wait-just-kidding-Omi-Omi-haha-oops-bye! Bokuto Koutarou. That one. There’d better be venomous king cobras knit from the fabric of nightmares or something in Hell.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu drawls obnoxiously. He’s stumbling gracelessly over his own feet every three seconds, weight pitched all lopsided and uneven into Hinata’s side. 

“Omi-san!” Hinata cheers. He’s a grinning, blubbering, menace of a thing. “O-o-mi-san! Omi-san!”

 _Deliriously_ drunk. The two of them are cutting stupid little shining figures against the 2 A.M. wash of a black-blue party-bruised city night. Cheeks pinked, voices unfiltered, brash and bold and a staggering two-headed migraine on the otherwise tranquil street.

Kiyoomi’s car is a ten-minute walk away. His sanity is, conveniently, ten seconds from fraying to ash.

“Omi-san!” Oh, Hinata’s _giggling_ now. “Where—where’re we going?”

“His—” Atsumu hiccups. “His car, Shouyou-kun. The—” A bizarre hiccup-snicker sandwich. “The, ya know, the _uuuugly_ one.” 

“It’s not ugly,” Kiyoomi mutters immediately, watching his breath plume into an exasperated, puffy cloud in the cold. 

His words fall on deaf ears. Hinata’s laughter is thunderous, fanning carelessly over the block and swallowing the street whole. And his eyes are fixed on Atsumu. As they usually are. An arm glued to his waist, fingers stapled into his skin. Attention clinging to each individual strand of piss-blonde gelled hair.

Atsumu’s smiling back, the starry-eyed idiot-Romeo he is. He looks seconds away from bowling over and kissing Hinata Shouyou senseless like it’s their last living day on Earth. 

Kiyoomi’s car isn’t ugly. But there’s something dark and disfigured that drives up harsh against the walls of his ribs each and every time this scene replays itself before his eyes. It’s a devilish, senseless little vehicle. Rears its head incomprehensibly at touches stolen in a locker room, unabashed flirting, heated stares he’s tangled in the middle of.

It doesn’t even make _sense_. His skin peels off his body and curls into itself with every bubbly, affectionate grin Hinata hurls at Atsumu. Then rinse, repeat, curl the other ungodly direction, when Atsumu’s eyes soften and his focus whittles down to a fondly murmured _Shouyou-kun_.

And it’s been a month. And it’s been a night. And Kiyoomi is still but an indecipherable mishmash of nerves, skin, pulse, blood in the presence of two of his teammates’ burgeoning romance. It drives mercilessly over his lungs, leaving wounds in its wake, and it drives up and down and sideways and cruel, and it drives—it drives him insane.

He can’t pull the brakes, with this. God knows he’s tried.

“Save it,” he half-snaps out. His heart feels all soggy, dripping ugly and jealous. Bleeding. Dry. “Just. Don’t do anything in the car.” 

“Wha? What’d we—why’d we do anythin’ in your ugly-ass car?”

Kiyoomi grits his teeth. Fishes the words out his chest and lets them scrape against his throat. “Because you two are dating. And shameless.”

A beat of silence sprawls over them. Kiyoomi pauses, heart caught beneath his tongue. Watches as Hinata and Atsumu stop their sad excuse of walking to stumble to a standstill on the sidewalk, still pressed oh-so-tight against one another. Moonlight still scattered oh-so-silver across rosy cheeks. 

“Atsumu-san,” Hinata starts suddenly, light puddling in the dip between his brows as they furrow. Confusion’s sewn plain into his expression. “Are we dating?”

Atsumu yawns. He _yawns_. “Hm? Fuck if I know.”

Then Hinata’s eyes, darting back to Kiyoomi and gleaming under the washed-out streetlight in answer. “Sometimes we make out, though,” he whispers loudly.

Kiyoomi’s head is ringing. With bells and sirens and alarms and a full-size chamber orchestra all at once. His mind draws an exquisite blank for him. Strikes a casual match under his skin. Says: _what the fuck_.

“Shameless,” he settles on grunting, finally. But his heart’s screeching out his chest; stretched thin in seven different directions. With seven different emotions. Traipsing through seven different unexplored continents of thought.

Hinata just laughs. And laughs, and laughs, warm and loopy and, always, a tiny bit crazed. Always, a tiny bit beautiful. “Does that mean you won’t makeout with us, Omi-san?”

Kiyoomi’s blood curdles to ice. “ _What the—_ ”

“‘Cause one time, like, Atsumu-san said—”

Then there’s a blaring yelp. And Atsumu is tripping regally over himself as he lunges forward in attempts to slide a palm over Hinata’s mouth. Except he’s drunk. And an idiot. So the universe is cackling in Kiyoomi’s face when someone sways, when someone squeaks, when one hand finds itself planted steadying on Hinata’s stupid-soft waist. When Atsumu’s arm is solid and warm under the other. When he’s ensnared by the heat and the flesh and the dizzying high of it all. A drugged, sickly-sweet little demon of a thing.

No one’s moving. Kiyoomi’s burning. There’s two heartbeats at his fingertips, rapid and breathless and so much more needlessly intoxicating than alcohol could ever dream to be.

“What,” he starts. Clears his throat, swallows down his scratchy, rabid pulse. “What did Miya say.”

“Shou—”

“He said you have nice hands,” Shouyou whispers.

Atsumu lets out another ear-splitting, inhumane noise. It's a nonsensical blend of _Shouyou_ and _shut up_ and _traitor_ and his own stuttering, liquor-coated voice that all cocktails into some flavor of disaster sloshing uneasily in Kiyoomi's gut. He’s still burning. He’s still, still, still burning. Atsumu’s staring with sudden, rapt fascination at the bend of Hinata’s ear.

"Miya," Kiyoomi manages to force out, voice infinitely strained. 

Atsumu's face performs a god-awful somersault through forty different shades of red. “Uhhh, whozzat?”

Shouyou's cheery voice splices through, abrupt. “Well I think you have nice hands too, Omi-san!”

The Devil’s personal assistant and its entire extended family spiked the alcohol tonight, Kiyoomi decides with finality. It’s the only explanation that grants his heart even a smidgen of breathing room. He’s still, still, still burning.

The lights are playing at some ridiculous game, falling lovely and golden across both their faces. Hinata’s eyes—wide, sweet, shimmering with the bludgeoning force of honesty. Atsumu’s mouth—bottom lip bitten to death in embarrassment, the tail-end of a frown, kissable. So kissable. Both of them. All of it. Eyes lips pulse skin. He’s still burning.

“You two are drunk,” Kiyoomi tries to mutter. It spills out low, raspy. Surrendered.

“Yeah!” Hinata's hiccuping, laughter splintering out in little thorns that prick warmth under his skin. “ _Sooo_ drunk. And Omi-san has nice hands! _And_ eyes!! You should—you should makeout with us!”

Kiyoomi’s right hand is trapped in the folds of Hinata’s shirt, bunched around his waist. His left, trapped against Atsumu’s bare, heated forearm. He’s trapped. On all sides, on all fronts, on all counts. There’s no running away—not now. Not with the two of them scorching through his space, standing so close. So warm, so citrusy-vanilla cologne, so—so everything. His tongue sits trapped. Fraught. No one's moving.

Then Shouyou hums, warbled and thoughtful. "Only if you're comf—" his voice snags on the word, wobbling for a shaky, drunken moment. “Comfortable, Omi-san!”

“Yeah,” Atsumu mumbles. His eyes are half-lidded, averted, _shy_ , almost. “Don't want ya to flip out, or somethin'. And get all—” A hiccup. “All annoyin'.”

God, this is ridiculous. Hinata Shouyou and Miya Atsumu are drunk off their asses at half past two on a stumbling Saturday night. Inviting him into some tangled jumble of limbs and hearts. Sharing, tasting, bleeding affection. And they're flushed and they're candid and they're gorgeous, insane, cherry-on-top-icing-on-cake-apparently _considerate_ , too, and they’re absolutely, positively, _fucking_ ridiculous.

Kiyoomi's never wanted so much, so fast.

Everything’s merging together now, Kiyoomi’s senses running haywire. Yellow, garish lights soaking into Hinata’s hand brushing against his ear. Fingers skimming over the shell, the skin, prying open for Atsumu’s voice to slink in. Everything’s merging together now. An amalgamation of heart, heat, heady, helpless desire.

It’s been a month. It’s been a night.

"Omi-kun,” Atsumu starts, slurred. Hinata giggles. They’re both stupid-drunk; they’re both stupid-smiling. They’re both beautifully delirious. They’re both deliriously beautiful. “Your ears are _redddddd_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u cary and lindsay for infecting (bullying) me with skatshn brainworms i wrote most of this at 4 am while having a breakdown over how cute and stupid they were.... original tweet [here](https://twitter.com/nebulousys/status/1297255460676853761?s=20). copied to ao3 bc this ended up being way longer than expected and bc the sakuatsuhina tag deserves more love!! (also because i accidentally cropped out a paragraph + wanted to clean some stuff up) written in a Fever not very edited and polished Don't Perceive Me. vibes from [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/7wwUAXyxw2VhSobdpCn1Mt?si=-GAOki83RE-AD5zzrjdj2w)
> 
> thank you as always for reading <3 find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nebulousys) or talk to me [here](https://curiouscat.qa/kunihina). mwah!


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